Mud and Souped-Up Machine Collide at the Swamp Buggy Races

The race drew thousands of fans. If I had a nickel for every man I saw sporting a Florida tattoo, I'd have enough money to buy a case of Natty Ice.

The weirdest part of a sport with no shortage of weird is the celebratory mud bath. Here race winner (and points leader) Eddie Chesser takes a dip with the queen.

The queen and her court cheer another competitor.

Back in the day, prizes included turkeys and shotguns. Now there are trophies. And cash.

The buggies are part race car, part tractor and part speedboat. They're loud, powerful, fast and loud.

The racing is real, and the competitors are serious. Races are held every November, January and March. As with NASCAR, drivers compete for points. The driver with the most points at the end of the three-race season wins.

The Swamp Buggy Queen Taylor Trew, center, and her court pose for photos with Swampy.

The national anthem is followed by drivers throwing autographed Frisbees into the audience. Formula 1 should do that.

It isn't really a buggy, and it isn't really a swamp. But that doesn't mean Swamp Buggy Racing isn't awesome. Silly, but awesome.

"I've always wanted to be this," said Swamp Buggy Queen Taylor Trew, greeting her subjects. She's attended the races every year since she was 8.

Photos: Sol Neelman/Wired

NAPLES, Florida — Before this town was a vacation spot, there were only swamps, and the men who played in them.

Back in the day, which around here means the 1930s, Collier County was known for farmin’, fishin’ and huntin’ — and the swamp buggies you needed to do those things. Naturally, when you have crazy contraptions with big engines that make a lot of noise, you get guys with a lot of bravado and something to prove. And that, naturally, leads to racing.

Which is why I found myself standing besides an immense hole filled with water for the “World Famous” Swamp Buggy Races. Race organizers consider this “the most bizarre, unique, and exciting event in all of motorsport.”

I think the word they’re looking for is “weird.” That’s the only way to describe the scene, where there is almost as much beer as water and the only thing bigger than the vehicles are the egos of those driving them.

The first races were held in the early 1940s. Things things got the official seal of approval, and a track in a sweet potato patch, in 1949. The earliest buggies were little more than modified trucks with balloon tires and gun racks, but modern machines are custom-built beasts that resemble the bastard love child of a tractor and a speed boat. They chug through the course, kicking up water and raising a racket. Progress can be slow as the vehicles sometimes come almost to a stop as they bog down in the mud.

The “Mile o’ Mud” at the Florida Sports Park is a figure 8, with two patches of boggy earth surrounded by 60-foot lanes. The track is dedicated specifically to swamp buggy racing. Tradition dictates the inclusion of two “sippy holes,” each more than five feet deep, to truly test the fortitude of man (and woman) and machine as both are nearly submerged.

Racers compete for the Budweiser Cup, a few thousand bucks in prize money and bragging rights during a “season” that spans three races. Everyone is gunning for defending champ Lorrie Johns — the second woman to hold the Cup. She put up one hell of a fight but fell to Eddie Chesser in the final race of this month’s first round.

Thousands show up to watch the muddy mayhem. As with the Crash-A-Rama held up the road, Swamp Buggy races feature Floridians at their best — and weirdest. There is carnival fare, cheap suds, lots of Lynyrd Skynyrd and, of course, a Swamp Buggy Queen.

“I’ve always wanted to be this,” the queen, Taylor Trew, said of her coronation. “It’s crazy.”